


sweet dreams

by ephemeral_fallacy



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Death, Future Fic, M/M, Nightmares, Other, Prompts with Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 12:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4435022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeral_fallacy/pseuds/ephemeral_fallacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nagisa doesn't remember most of the years of his life, and Karma won't tell him. He's just given up, until the dreams start to come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. shirt

**Author's Note:**

> shitshsithis it was supposed to be like gay drabbles but like a sad plot came up and???/  
> lmao its kinda gay

“ _Good morning_ ,” he hears that familiar whisper when his eyes barely open.

 

 _It really smells like him_ , Nagisa blithely thinks, and he’s not even sure if it’s his room or Karma’s. They share blankets anyway, so he turns a bit and buries his head in the warm pillow. His legs tangle in the sheets and his fingers curl over nothing, but he scrabbles for a moment, searching.

 

There’s no one beside him and he jerks up. The bed is empty, and he’s stunned for a moment. In the spot where Karma is supposed to be is a red shirt, _the shirt he sleeps in so it’s covered in his scent and whenever he leaves, this is the shirt Nagisa puts on the bed, the shirt that smells of home, warmth, and love,_ and the blue-haired male grabs onto it, like a lifeline. As if he’s gonna die.

 

He could’ve sworn he heard his voice.

 

The air is cold in the room as Nagisa swings to his feet and the shirt drops to the ground. He bends and picks it up, clutching it close. It’s warm from his body’s residual heat but he wishes it wasn’t from him. This morning, he doesn’t stop for his morning cup of cold water or for a quick rinse. It’s been a week and the blue-haired male is ready to scream.

 

The house is quiet in all regards, the blinds are closed and the rooms are dark and full of nothing; Nagisa gingerly takes steps as if noise could wake up all the fond memories hiding in those shadows.

 

_But his eyes are focused on his phone._

 

The still-drowsy Nagisa dials in the number he’s memorized since years ago with his shaky fingers and clammy palms and he nearly drops the shirt he’s still holding onto.

 

He prays Karma will pick up.

He prays that he’s not dead.

He prays for a lot things, but he probably prays that Karma will come back soon, the most.

 

The ringing feels like an eternity. Nagisa wants him to pick up, so, so badly. His fingers are still shaking and the rhythm of his breath is starting to stutter. Every ring, a different thought pops in his head and all of them are bad.

 

_What if he’s strung up in a basement because he was too cocky? He’s bleeding and begging for reprise, thinking of all the regrets in his life, he’s dying--_

“Nagisa?” The husky voice interrupts his thoughts. “What’s up?” Karma sounds breathless and he sounds like he’s been breathing hard, exercising. Nagisa has never felt so relieved in his life, and he’s not even sure why he’s so panicked. He doesn’t even understand himself, sometimes, and it feels like he’s missing something. Something in his head.

 

“Karma…” and he pauses. For a second, they’re just listening to each other breathe in sync from across the world.

 

“ _Good morning_ ,” Nagisa finally replies and his cheeks start to burn. It’s dumb, he blurted it out without thinking and now he’s feeling the brunt of embarrassment. Now he’s praying that Karma will brush it off like he always does (and he normally does, but sometimes there’s a small part of him that says that the redhead will leave him for these tiny, silly mistakes).

 

From the other side of the phone, there’s a soft chuckle, and as if the blue-haired male is watching a TV screen flicker, he can imagine the softening crinkle to Karma’s gray eyes and the little smile that graces his lips whenever he’s alone and genuinely amused. _No one sees it but him and that makes him feel so powerful._

  
“Good morning, Nagisa.”


	2. dulcet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isnt gay en ough  
> wwwhat the fu ck

He waits as still as a statue, watching that clock tick its hand every second, tick its other hand every minute. There’s nothing but the sound of the soft clicking and the outside noises he doesn’t care about.

 

The guitar by the door is soundless, the strings dead to his fingers and the wood smooth and cold. _If Karma were here…_

 

_Poorly executed, but melodious sounds from the plucking of a guitar, two different laughs intertwining as one sound, the warmth of a house with a happy couple. That’s dulcet noise, more musical than the songs he plays when it’s too quiet for him._

_The sound of Karma trying to serenade him with his voice so perfect, but his words stuttering, sweet, the taste of soft caramel and sharp cinnamon pouring down his throat. He really doesn’t know how to sing in English, but he tries his best and is words are just a little garbled. Nagisa understands, though, and he smiles along, humming and thinking of the words in his head. It’s their song, after all..._

 

And on the thought of the redhead, the blue-haired male climbs onto the couch (too tired of sitting), but with much hesitation. Lying down with his back relaxed and neck against the armrest, he takes some measured breathes, and is vaguely reminded of the soft puffs they take in unison _when they sleep together at night. Karma’s is always a little slower than his, even though his anger boils faster._

 

_If Karma were here,_ he thinks…

 

Nagisa misses that dulcet voice whispering in his ears, strong arms wrapping around him and supporting him. _Tears_ that never touch the ground because they’re wiped away by his calloused fingers or softly chapped lips, searing grasp about his waist, pulling him close and until they’re tangled together like tree roots, he dazes in and out of remembrance, his mind wrapped up neatly against the faint background sound of guitar strings hesitantly strummed. Gray eyes watching him reproachfully, waiting to catch him if he ever stumbles.

 

But he doesn’t stumble _(he only likes to think so, he’s strong)._

 

He will be coming home, tonight, and the feeling of safety washes over him like he’s sinking into a bath, water illuminating the ceiling in the fairy patterns of light that reflect. Sinking further into the cushions, he breathes, _in and out,_ repeat, **count to ten.**

_That’s what they tell him to do and he can’t remember why. It’s just a dusty dream off the shelf of memoriae he can’t see with his broken window eyes._

 

As the door jiggles (he can feel his heart thumping, rising, lifting him off the couch to stand on legs shaking), key turning the lock, door opening ( _red hair like burnt pieces of the sun)_ , Nagisa makes his way towards the man he’s longed for, embracing him tightly, burying his face in the musty clothes that smell of airport, taxi leather, and a sharp cinnamon.

 

“Did you really miss me that much?” His voice is light, joking and teasing, like it’s always been. Nothing has ever changed with him, a spontaneous stability that was a constant, the moon orbiting the earth.

 

A muffled “yes” and a tightened grip, Karma chuckles and runs his hands over the blue-haired male’s hair, before holding him back.

 

_Reminders of sweet caramel, and of guitar strings plucked with love,_ he whispers, “Well, I’ve missed you too, Nagisa..”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im cry ign  
> i j ust wnate d gggays  
> wher ehe uf kc the talent go gays come back  
> GODDAMN ITS SO SHORT!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> gimme prompts pls thanks  
> this is gonna be like 15 gay chapters of hurt/comfort prepare ur butt


End file.
